Jealousy
by marble eyes
Summary: John Watson is not jealous of that 'woman'...honestly. Spoilers for 2x1.
1. John

John Watson was not jealous. He wasn't one bit jealous of that woman. In fact he was so un-jealous that he was going to get on the phone to his ex-girlfriend right now. If only he could remember her name. He groaned and took another sip of his tea. This was ridiculous. How could he be jealous of a dead woman? He stared over at Sherlock's violin as if it offended him; he bet that Sherlock wouldn't play sad songs for him when he died.

John suddenly slammed his cup on the table, trying to dispel his childish thoughts. Irene Adler: the name that would haunt him for the rest of his life, the name of the woman that Sherlock Holmes was possibly in love with. There he'd said it: Sherlock Holmes was in love…perhaps. He knew he should be happy for his friend, be dancing for joy that the man was finally showing human emotions. But he wasn't happy, not one bit. He disliked the woman perhaps even more than Jim Moriarty, was that even possible?

He could not pinpoint the moment of his dislike for the woman began. Perhaps it was when she'd paraded herself naked in front of Sherlock and he'd noticed his friend's eyes lingered on the woman's curves. Or perhaps it was the way that no matter how many times John had washed Sherlock's coat (fifteen to be exact) that her perfume still clung to the fabric. Or how she'd slept in Sherlock's bed, or how she'd kissed him in such a blasé manner right before John's eyes. He could feel his face getting redder and redder the more he thought of the woman and her actions.

'John, are you okay?'

He blushed, realising those grey eyes were now fixed upon him. 'Yes, sorry. I was miles away.'

Sherlock did not respond and instead carried on staring into his microscope. John sighed in relief; he couldn't let Sherlock see that he was jealous. Sherlock now seemed to admirer intelligent, buxom brunettes. How could John ever compare to that?

John hadn't lied when he told Irene he wasn't gay. No it seemed he was fast becoming S-Sexual: Sherlock Sexual. He was almost sure Irene had figured out his feelings and then decided to rub it in his face. He resisted the urge to break something, or throw Sherlock's blasted phone out the window. Anything to be rid of any memory of that frustrating woman. He quickly stood up; he needed to get some air. He needed to do something, anything to get his mind off Irene Adler. He left through the door and didn't say a word to Sherlock as he passed.

John had only been gone a few seconds before the smirk spread across Sherlock's face. John was delectable when he was jealous. The whole Adler episode had been worth it in the end. He had found Irene his soul mate in many respects and Sherlock was sure if he'd met her first… But it did not matter now. Moriarty was right that John was his heart, the one person whose untimely death would burn and destroy him. But John didn't have to know this yet. His jealousy was far more delicious.

He was distracted from his musing by the sound of Irene Adler's highly inappropriate text tone. He quickly grabbed it from its strategically placed position on the table.

'The green eyed monster only makes him more sexier'

When he thought of Irene Adler it was like placing a mirror in front of his own face. He hoped this would mean that she would understand that Sherlock Holmes did not share.


	2. Mrs Hudson

**Thank you to Faustinette, Zarra Rous, HumanElement, SrtaWalker, ARoseByAnyOtherStory and oppositeproduct for reviewing. Here's just another random little drabble to say thank you. A jealous John is so much fun to write. **

John tiptoed to the kitchen with the bundle in his arms. Even though Sherlock was asleep, he was taking no chances. He quickly opened the washing machine door and rammed the bundle in.

'Isn't that the fifth time this week you've washed that coat?'

John nearly jumped a mile, wondering how Mrs Hudson had appeared so suddenly and quietly behind him.

'It's the fifth tenth actually,' John muttered, looking to the floor like a naughty school boy.

'Ah I must be mistaking it for Sherlock's bedding and dressing gown then.' She replied, trying to disguise the knowing twinkle in her eyes.

'No I've washed those more.' Muttered John.

A smile spread across Mrs Hudson's lips. 'Would you care to join me for some tea?' she pointed to the tray sat upon the table filled with a tea pot and many delicious cakes.

'I don't see why not.' John smiled and sat with her at the table. Allowing her to pour him some tea and place a cake in front of him.

'John do you think that you might be a bit-' she paused, seeming unsure whether to finish the sentence, 'Jealous?'

John started to choke; he quickly thumped himself on the back before taking a huge gulp of his tea. 'Why would you think that?'

'Well I've noticed in the past few weeks you've developed an unhealthy obsession with cleaning.'

'I like a clean flat.' John replied.

'Yes but John I've noticed your cleaning is only aimed at items connected to that awful woman.'

'I'm not gay.'

'Yes I know that. But do you think that you may be in love with Sherlock.' She said quickly, finally glad that she'd voiced her thoughts out loud.

John looked flabbergasted. 'Mrs Hudson I appreciate your concern, but I am not in love with Sherlock. Just because I may have accidentally thrown his violin out of the window, washed any clothes she may have touched over twenty times, flushed her phone down the toilet, disinfected any chair she sat upon, set fire to Sherlock's mattress, and because I can still smell her perfume brought enough air fresheners to keep a certain company in business for many years to come; does not mean I am jealous or in love with Sherlock.' He blushed, looking completely shocked about his outburst.

'Of course not dear,' Said Mrs Hudson 'I'm glad we had this chat. Just please remember next time you're jealous not to set fire to any more furniture.' She shot him a knowing look before departing through the door.

/

Sherlock smirked, admiring his perfectly clean coat hanging from the peg. It was a shame he'd yet again have to spray it with perfume. He grinned pulling out the small bottle that the woman had left behind; spraying copious amounts on both his coat and around the room.

'Sherlock!' What ever are you doing?'

He looked up and spotted Mrs Hudson at the door, with a look of shock on her face.

'Just an experiment Mrs Hudson, nothing to worry about.' He replied.

She shot him a knowing look. 'I would think someone as smart as you would have saved himself a lot of time if he'd thought of meddling with the air fresheners so that they sprayed the perfume instead.'

A smirk passed between the two of them. Poor John thought Mrs Hudson was a sweet old lady, little did he know the woman had a little of the devil about her when it came to matchmaking. By his deduction John was close to being pushed over the edge and he couldn't wait until that happened. He knew he'd only have to wait a little while longer until John (in a wild fit of jealous) would be his. But until then… he looked over at the automatic air fresheners, he had work to do.


	3. Mycroft

**Thank you to Zarra Rous, Faustinette, read-everything and phantomcat97 for reviewing.**

John struggled with the door to 221B cursing. His hands were full of shopping bags and he had been trying to feel around his pockets in hope of finding his keys for the last five minutes. He glowered at the door; he wasn't having a good day. He had had yet another battle of wits with the self-service machine and been defeated. The icing on top of the cake was when it began to rain heavily and John was now soaked to the skin. He finally managed to fish his key from his pocket, feeling a sense of victory. He quickly opened the door, but the smile soon was wiped from his face when he noticed both Mycroft and Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table in silence.

He glowered at them both. 'Don't mind me, just struggling outside for the last five minutes while you two sat there.'

They both merely glanced at him, not seeming to understand the sarcasm in his voice.

'It's not like I had lots of shopping bags and was soaking wet. Or that with both of your powers of deduction you probably realised that a whole five minutes ago. No I quite happily love to stand outside the door looking for my key; it's the highlight of my day.'

He still received no response and with a sigh he placed the heavy bags into the kitchen. He was half way through unpacking when Mycroft broke the stony silence.

'When were you going to tell me that your faked Irene Adler's death?'

John dropped the jar of jam he'd been holding and began to feel the ever present rise of a certain green eyed monster. He stood there motionless, suddenly forgetting the jam that was now all over the floor.

'I didn't really think you'd really care.' Said Sherlock in response; not seeming to care that Mycroft was now shooting daggers at him.

'Of course I wouldn't care about a woman who threatened the entire of this country's national security. What were you thinking?'

'I'm sorry.' Said John interrupting them both. 'She's alive? What is with this whole faking your own death thing? Is it a fashion no one's informed me about? Should I try it next? Surprised you haven't Sherlock, I'm sure you'd love the nation weeping over you into their cereal!'

They both ignored him. John let out an uncharacteristic growl and grabbed a multi pack of crisps to put away.

'Didn't you think it would be a giveaway when I found your receipt for that hotel? It was charged to me and dated on the day of her death. Should I even ask why you needed the room for two days and why-' he paused and picked up the piece of paper in front of him. 'You also purchased handcuffs and cream, charging them yet again to my account.'

John stood there froze. Not realising he was slowly gripping the crisps tighter and tighter. He continued to ignore the crunching the crisps made, until his jealous inward rage was interrupted by the crisps exploding with a loud bang. He looked down at the floor in a daze, noticing there was now a mess of jam and crisp pieces all over it.

'John, are you okay?' asked Sherlock, his attention no longer on Mycroft.

'Of course I am.' Said John, he bent down and began to pick up the broken glass. He hissed in pain as a piece sliced into his finger. 'Oh dear I've cut myself. I better go back to the supermarket and buy some plasters.'

'There's plenty in the cupboard and it's pouring with rain outside'

'Yes.' Said John, his voice seeming distant. 'But I need the ones with dinosaurs on.' He quickly stepped out of the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the destruction he had caused in there.

'Don't forget the cream.' Said Sherlock.

'Cream?' squeaked John, his cheeks turning bright red.

'That Mrs Hudson asked you to get, but you forgot the first time around.'

'Oh yes of course, cream for Mrs Handcu-Hudson!' without another word John shot out the door, this time even forgetting his keys.

'So how did I do?' asked Mycroft a moment later. 'You don't think the mention of cream and handcuffs was too much, do you?'


	4. Lestrade

**Thank you to That Old Black Magic, JustBeAQueen, read-everything, SuspiciousFlower, Theodora Helena Miller, BrittFaceNess, lordnitemare and Quicksliver for reviewing :) This chapter is for you guys. There is also a little bit of slash in this chapter too. **

Lestrade sighed, following Sherlock into the doorway of 221 Baker Street. 'Are you going to tell me what this is about? You turn up uninvited to a crime scene, not just any crime scene but a grizzly murder. Then you practically force me into a cab and bring me here.'

'Here take this.' Said Sherlock, he passed a small tube to Lestrade.

He looked down into his hands. 'What is…Lipstick?'

'Put it on.'

'Have you finally lost it? If you hadn't noticed Sherlock, I'm not a woman and I do not wear lipstick.'

'If you put it on I'll tell you who murdered the victim and why. If I don't tell you, you and your merry group of morons will spend the next two weeks scratching your heads none the wiser.' He replied.

'That's blackmail!'

'No,' said Sherlock smirking 'I have something you want and you are the only one available to give me it.'

Lestrade gulped and opened the tube, noticing the lipstick was a garish shade of red. 'I really don't think this is my colour.'

'Put it on and you can go home to your wife, who is by the way still cheating on you.'

Lestrade looked at the tube in frustrating; decided it was perhaps better to do this strange request, than let a murderer walk the streets for the next two weeks. He quickly applied the makeup across his lips, wondering why the colour had to be prostitute red.

'See now that wasn't that hard, was it? Now I need you to kiss me.'

'What do you mean kiss you? This is beyond ridiculous Sherlock!' Lestrade looked at the man in front of him as if he'd grown another head.

'Not on the lips. I want you to kiss me on the cheek and make sure it leaves a mark. Do hurry up, I'm getting bored.' He said swiftly.

Lestrade chewed his lip, unsure of what to do. 'I'll do it. But only if you tell me exactly why you want me to, and what's going on.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Lestrade you're a detective, can't you work it out for yourself? Do I really have to stand with you every time and hold your hand?'

Lestrade shuddered. 'I don't think you should really be talking about holding my hand, when a moment ago you asked me to kiss you. So what's going on?'

Sherlock considered the man in front of him for a few seconds. 'John.'

'What about John?'

'I like to make him jealous.' With each word Sherlock looked like he was sucking a lemon.

Lestrade was silent for a second and then began to laugh and laugh and laugh. 'It's about time. All my team have been making bets about how long it will take for the two of you to get together. Many of them believe you both are already.' He grabbed Sherlock's face quickly and pressed his lips onto his cheek. 'There, I've done it. You don't have to thank me; I just want an invite to the wedding. Now who is the murderer?'

'The victim's sister. Do let yourself out Lestrade.' Said Sherlock, within seconds he had disappeared up the stairs.

/

Lestrade sighed as he made his way up the stairs, wondering what scene would greet him. It had taken him a few minutes after Sherlock's declaration to realise that he had no evidence to convict the sister with. Yet again Lestrade found himself needing Sherlock Holmes's help. He'd spent a few minutes rubbing the lipstick clean off his lips, wondering what his wife would think when she found his stained handkerchief.

He found the door strangely ajar and was not prepared for the sight that greeted him: John Watson had Sherlock Holmes pinned to the wall and their lips were inches apart. He vaguely wondered if he had time to grab his camera phone, the whole station would want to see this.

John was now leaning closer to Sherlock and pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. Instead of kissing the man in front of him, John instead spat on the handkerchief. Lestrade noticed with glee, that he was now rubbing furiously at the lipstick stain on Sherlock's cheek. After a few minutes of rubbing Sherlock's cheek red raw, John didn't seem to realise that he'd dropped the handkerchief and his hand was now resting (unmoving) on his best friend's cheek. Sherlock's eyes slid shut and his hand had now moved up to rest on John's. The moment was only for a second, until John suddenly seemed aware of what he was doing. He sprang from Sherlock as if he'd been burnt and spun round in a panic and bumped straight into Lestrade.

'I'm not gay.' John said in a rush, before fleeing from the room and out the front door. Not even questioning why Lestrade had seemingly been stood mere meters away from the oblivious couple, watching them in way in which many would consider perverted.

Sherlock was now glowering at Lestrade, like he wanted to commit a murder of his own.

'Was it something I said?'


	5. Irene

**Thank you to Wings Dipped in Silver, JustBeAQueen, read-everything, BrittFaceNess, Anon, Quicksliver and BananaDaiquiriTimeLord for your lovely reviews :) This chapter is a bit of a game changer and has a slightly different tone. Hope everyone enjoys :) **

John wondered vaguely if he was descending into madness. Over the last few weeks he had found himself becoming a victim to random jealous rages. He was beginning to regret the day he had laid eyes on Irene Adler. It didn't help that Sherlock always seemed to be up to something lately, something sly. It wasn't just Sherlock, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were acting strange too. They both kept staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for an explosion. It didn't help that he'd also had a strange meeting with Mycroft. John and the older Holmes had merely stared at each other, until Mycroft had exclaimed 'Ah it hasn't happened yet?' and abruptly left without even a goodbye. The madness didn't stop there; John could have sworn the other day Lestrade had been wearing lipstick.

He sighed in relief as he let himself into the flat and sat down on the sofa. John now had a few wonderful Sherlock free hours. He closed his eyes, ignoring the soft fragrance of perfume that seemed to be emitting from the air fresheners. His eyes sprang open as he noticed something amiss, a glimpse of red in the corner of his eye. He stood up and his eyes widened as he noticed a trail of rose petals leading into Sherlock's room. He followed them nervously, trying to ignore all kinds of thoughts that were going through his head. He was not prepared for the sight that met him.

'Hello sexy, how about lunch in bed?'

Irene Adler was yet again completely naked in Sherlock's bed. She had propped herself up on a number of pillows like she was royalty and was daintily sipping a cup of coffee.

'Get out!' said John, the words were out his mouth before he could stop them.

'That's no way to greet a visitor, especially one that's brought you such a delicious lunch.'

John ignored her and her naked form. He was too busy thinking about how he'd now have to wash the bed sheets, throw out the pillows and accidentally smash the cup she was drinking from. On second thoughts, perhaps it would be easier to just blow up Sherlock's entire bedroom.

'I know exactly what you'd like John.'

'Trust me, you don't and never will.' he replied.

Irene's expression twisted into a pout 'playing hard to get?'

'No. Funnily enough I just don't take kindly to naked women in my best friend's bed trying to seduce me. Makes me a bit grumpy, especially when all I want to do is sit down and watch a bit of Loose Woman with a sandwich and a cup of tea.'

The vacant expression on her face twisted again to a seductive smile. 'You look tense, how about a massage?'

'No'

'No?' she looked at John as if the word was alien to her.

'No as in get out and never darken my door again. I don't fancy you and quite frankly find your seduction routine a bit dull.'

'Dull?' she suddenly looked lost for words.

'Who wants a present when it's unwrapped?' he answered simply. 'Now I'm off to the kitchen to make a sandwich.'

'But you've got steak in the bedroom.'

'Yeah, but I fancy cheese and pickle.'

Irene was not happy, for the first time ever it seemed another human being was resistant to her charms. She couldn't believe this was happening to her, it had never happened before.

'Wait!' she cried at John's retreating form.

John sighed before turning back out of courtesy. He did not expect a hot cup of coffee to be thrown all down his shirt.

'Ah! Why do you do that for?' he cried. 'It's burning.'

Before he could say anything, Irene had pulled him onto the bed and was taking off his shirt.

'Get off!' he cried.

'No John, I know this is all an act. You're just worried about Sherlock.' She said, finally managing to pull off his coffee soaked shirt.

'No, it's because I don't fancy you.' He tried to gently shove her off him, but the woman had the strength of an elephant.

'Let me show you how much you want me.' She was now moving to his belt.

'I don't want you!' growled John, 'I just want Sherlock!'

She suddenly stopped, frozen in action. John quickly shoved her away in relief and lay still for a few moments.

'You finally admit you're gay then?' she asked, he could hear the smirk in her voice.

'I don't admit anything.' He shot back. 'Why does everyone seem to think a label should be put on me because I have feelings for Sherlock?'

'You know I hate you John?'

He turned to look at her in confusion 'I don't understand why. You're a beautiful and intelligent woman. Sherlock thinks a lot of you.'

She began to cry and John suddenly felt guilty of his treatment of her, she was a human being after all. He put an arm around her awkwardly. Before he could say anything of comfort, she had sprung on top of him again like a panther. John was beginning to think she was the devil is disguise.

'So you like a damsel in distress? I knew I'd crack you in the end.'

'Oh for f-' he was beginning to realise how the men in the Lynx adverts felt.

'What's going on here?' Sherlock was now in the room, with a strange look in his eyes.

'Me and John are about to have lunch.' Irene purred.

'No, I think you'll find you're pinning me here against my will. When all I want to do is go and have a cup of tea and a bloody sandwich!'

Sherlock took two long strides to the bed and yanked John away from her, putting his arms protectively around the shorter man.

'What's wrong Sherlock? Don't you like sharing your toys?' asked Irene. 'Are you jealous?'

Sherlock did not respond, his mouth was now a line and his grip on John tightened.

'It's not nice is it, being given a taste of your own medicine?' She smirked expectantly at John.

'What are you talking about?' asked John.

'You mean you haven't noticed.' Said Irene with mock shock. 'Sherlock's got a new addiction; it's called making you jealous. I was worried for a while that it was the result of real affection, but I think it just comes down to the fact he doesn't like to share his toys.'

'Is this true?' John asked the man, who was now staring at the floor blankly and not saying a word.

'Of course it is.' Said Irene answering for him, 'He's even got your friends in on the game too.'

'Right.' Said John, an unreadable expression on his face. 'I'm going for a long walk and I don't know when I'll be back.' He began to leave his room, his thoughts only on getting out the front door of their flat.

'John.' Said Sherlock.

He paused mid-flight. 'I don't want to here it.'

'John.'

'What?' he asked, trying not to show how angry he was becoming.

'You have no shirt on and your trousers are undone.'

John blushed bright red. 'Right, well I'm off for a walk, after I've put some clothes on.' He slammed the door behind him.

'I think that went well,' said Irene, her eyes were twinkling. She quickly slipped a black silk dress over her body and picked up a nearby bag. 'Don't look at me with that face Sherlock, the poor man would have figured it out by himself eventually.'

Sherlock did not say a word, but raised an eyebrow at her carrier bag and its contents. 'Cheese and pickle sandwiches and a flask of tea?' he asked duly.

'Never let anyone say that I don't know what a man wants.'


	6. Donavan

**This chapter turned into much more than a drabble and I found myself actually getting a little teary while writing a certain part (It never normally ever happens). Thank you to my reviewers of the last chapter: Quicksliver – Thank you for the offer of beta-ing, but I think I only have around two or three chapters left to go, BritFaceNess, littlelostsheep, SuspiciousFlower, Lexicon and read-everything. **

John Watson was drunk, not just any kind of drunk; no, John Watson was the kind of drunk that left you with gaps in your memory and a hangover the size of the moon. This particular fact didn't seem to bother him as he gulped down another beer. After his experience with Irene Adler he had headed to the nearest bar and drank in a way that even Harry would find it very hard to keep up with. He'd even got up to sing karaoke over an hour ago, with a drunken version of 'Carly Simon – Sherlock You're So Vain'. Granted he'd changed the words, but the crowd seemed to enjoy it. The Leaky Bucket pub now knew exactly how vain Sherlock Holmes was, and had joined him on the chorus the second time around. It was a shame he'd been dragged away from the microphone by their bouncer though. Rather than throwing him out the man had merely winked at him and slipped him a bit of paper with his telephone number on. John Watson was having a very strange night.

He leaned against the bar, feeling the world around him spinning like a fairground ride. A tap on the shoulder shook him from his drunken stupor, he sighed hoping it wasn't yet another person trying to chat him up (so far his pocket had over ten phone numbers from both men and women).

'Hello John. I rather enjoyed your little sing-song; I'm sure the boys at Scotland Yard will enjoy it much more.'

John turned and resisted the urge to scream in frustration; couldn't he even get drunk in peace? Why did someone always have to be there when he screwed up/made a fool of himself? 'Just sod off!' he growled.

Sally Donavan's eyes twinkled at John's response. 'That's no way to treat the woman who's just filmed your whole little performance.' She slipped into the seat next to him.

'Don't care.' Slurred John. 'Did he send you?'

'He?' Donavan asked in confusion.

'Sherlock. Let me guess, he's sent you here to tell me he's eloped with Adler and right now they're producing hundreds of babies. Well I'm telling you this right now; I will not baby-sit or look after the demons while they run off together getting themselves killed.'

Donavan raised a perfect eyebrow at John's rambling. 'Who's Adler? And why would I do anything that freak asked?'

'Adler's the woman. The devil and she wants Sherlock. She's gorgeous and sexy and I'm just plain old boring John.' He leaned his head on the table and closed his eyes.

'So basically you're jealous and this is why you're so drunk?' she asked.

'Give yourself a policing medal; you've solved a case in less than a week. Must be a first.' His voice muffled from the table.

'There's no need to be rude. All I'm trying to do is help you. I'm not a monster you know.'

'Pfft! I need another beer.' He sat up straight as the bar tender appeared as if by magic, but began to sway. 'I want a beer for me and triple vodka for her.' He pointed at Donavan. 'She's not drunk enough yet to be good company.'

She opened her mouth to protest.

'Please Donavan. If you don't get drunk it's so obvious you'll end up calling Anderson. Who by the way isn't going to leave his wife' He took a big sip of his new beer.

Her lips pressed into a line, but she drank down the liquid without another word. 'Fine, I'll stay with you just this once but I'd like to know what's going on.'

He looked at her through blurry eyes, the words slipped out before he could stop them 'Sherlock has been making me jealous for an experiment, apparently according to the devil all my friends are in on it too.' He took another swig of his beer.

'So that's why Greg put a two hundred bet on you two becoming an item yesterday?'

John dropped the bottle he was holding, not noticing as it leaked all over the bar and onto his trousers. 'Lestrade's in on it too?'

'Of course, he seems to worship the ground that the freak walks on. But I think it's time the tables turned John, I have an idea.'

/

At four in the morning John Watson stumbled out of a cab and fell flat onto the pavement. He briefly heard Donavan giggling before the door slammed and the cab drove away. He closed his eyes, never realising how comfortable pavement truly was. He turned over onto his back and peered up at the night sky, he closed his eyes trying to ignore the fact he was slowly starting to sober up. A small voice in the back of John's head knew he was going to regret the karaoke, the raunchy dancing on top of a table with Donavan and the phone call to Anderson telling him that he had a small-

'What are you doing?'

John groaned, opening his eyes and noticing Sherlock standing above him. 'What does it look like? I'm sleeping. Now get out of my room,' he slurred.

'John, you're on the pavement.'

'Maybe the pavement is my new room. There are no laws against it.'

John smirked when he heard no response. He didn't expect gentle, but strong arms to lift him to his feet. He stood on his own for a few moments, before the world began to sway and he yet again felt himself falling. He quickly threw his arms around Sherlock's neck and clung on for dear life. 'Why is the world moving?'

'It's not.' Said Sherlock. 'You're drunk.'

'Drunk? How dare you.' He giggled, snuggling further into the crook of Sherlock's neck.

'John could you stop.'

He ignored the man's request and began to slip his hands down the back of Sherlock's shirt and felt the smooth bare skin of his back.

'John.'

He began to kiss the bare skin on Sherlock's neck; he drew out his tongue tracing a line down the soft skin and grazing it gently with his teeth.

With a growl Sherlock wrenched John away from him. 'Enough.'

John pouted and stood their swaying. 'Donavan's more fun than you. She gets me.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Can you get upstairs?'

'Aren't we already upstairs?'

With a sigh Sherlock picked up the man in front of him and carried him into the front door and up the stairs. He didn't stop until he'd placed John safely in his own bed. He pulled John's shoes and coat off before pulling the covers over him. 'Goodnight John.'

'Aren't you going to stay?' he asked drunkenly.

'No.'

John looked at him in confusion. 'Why not?' he pulled the covers off himself and stood shakily. He yet again found himself in Sherlock Holmes's arms. 'Stay.' He whispered.

'No.'

John's face twisted with an unknown emotion. He leaned forward to kiss Sherlock, but found himself pushed back down onto the bed and the covers being drawn up to his chin. He forced himself not to cry, knowing he had just been rejected.

'Goodnight John.' Whispered Sherlock as he reached the door.

'Sherlock.' He called to the retreating form. 'I met someone in the bar tonight, her name's Mary. I think she's the one.'

Sherlock turned, but noticed John was now asleep. He quickly fled the room, ignoring the solitary tear that had slipped down his cheek at John's words. The alien emotion of jealousy was flooding through every part of him.

A bleep on his phone distracted him from his growing anger and resentment. It was a picture message of a beautiful blonde woman with her arms wrapped around his John. He forced himself not to throw the phone across the room. The text was from Mycroft and the words underneath it simply read: 'Do you want her disposed of?' He smiled at his brother's ill attempt at humour and quickly typed: 'No, she may have won the battle but the war is about to begin.'


	7. Anderson

**Thank you to meredithriddle, JustBeAQueen, BananaDaiquiriTimeLord and Zarra Rous for your lovely reviews. If anyone can guess a twist involving Mary, I might just send them a sneak peak snippet of the next chapter. Enjoy! **

Anderson looked curiously over at Sally Donavan, who was leaning her head against the desk. He was slightly annoyed with the woman, whose phone call he had waited for the entire night. He had woken up on the sofa to find that he had missed his favourite documentary on dinosaurs. Needless to say, Anderson was feeling frustrated. He sighed and tried to avoid looking at his dinosaur screensaver, which would make him want her more. Donavan was very kind about his secret fetish and often dressed up in outfits to suit it (something his wife would never do).

'Sally?' he said, trying to make his voice as caring as possible. 'Would you like me to fetch you a coffee?'

'Go to hell,' she muttered in response.

He chewed his lip, wondering what he could do to get his colleague back on side. He quite enjoyed their illicit encounters. 'I could get you a glass of water and some painkillers?'

She raised her head up and gave him an even more venomous glare. 'And what do you want in return?'

He swallowed heavily and began talking before he lost his nerve under her glare. 'I was thinking that maybe we could sneak into the museum again'

'No.'

He nearly fell off his chair, Sally had never said no to him before. He scowled and went back to staring at his computer screen. Could this day get any worse?

'I see you fell asleep on the sofa last night after a row with the wife. Becoming a bit of a habit, isn't it?'

Anderson wondered if the gods hated him. He knew that the person he least wanted to see was standing right behind him. He turned his chair round and noticed Sherlock Holmes and a very ill looking John Watson.

'Did I ask for your opinion, freak?' he hoped this would be enough to get rid of the man, but it seemed luck wasn't on his side.

'No, but you make it so easy for me to give it. And by the way I wouldn't try sneaking into the museum again; the guards are keeping a much closer eye out after the last time.' He shot Anderson a winning smirk, before disappearing with John into Lestrade's office.

'Do you think the freak ever has a bad day?' he said out loud to himself, part of him somewhat doubted it.

'No, but he's about to.' Sally was now sitting up with a look of glee spread across her face.

'What do you mean?'

'It's obvious to everyone that the freak is in love with John Watson, well to everyone but John Watson. So I've decided it's about time he knows how it feels to be humiliated.' She took a sip out of her water bottle.

Anderson raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'How do you intend to do this?'

She smirked in response. 'That's just it; I've already set the wheels in motion. I've paired John up with my best friend Mary. You see John just thinks he's using him, so it means he'll be even more determined to make it work with her. I'm hitting the freak where it really hurts, by taking away the only thing he ever wanted.' By the end of her little speech she was laughing so hard that she slipped off her chair and fell to the floor with a crash.

Anderson remained oddly quiet. A part of him was happy that karma had taken its revenge on Sally by causing her to fall. He made no move to help her up. Although he was a man with a very weak moral compass, he was completely ashamed of her.

Sally struggled back into her chair and surveyed her colleague's reaction. 'What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy.'

He began to open his mouth, but stopped at the sight of a stunning blonde coming towards him.

'Sally!' she exclaimed happily.

'Mary.'

Anderson raised an eyebrow, knowing that this was not going to end well. He watched Mary stride towards Sally and plant a lingering kiss on her cheek.

'Where's the emergency?' asked Mary, looking round the office in curiosity.

'Well I have a surprise for you, that and I just wanted to see you.' She lied easily.

Mary's eyes brightened at the later part of what Sally had said. 'What's the surprise?'

Sally opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Lestrade wondering out from his office with Sherlock and a still ill looking John.

'Mary!' said Lestrade in delight, 'what are you doing here?'

She returned his question with a warm smile. 'Sally said you had a fire-related problem, so here I am.'

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, but carried on smiling. 'I bet it was all a ploy to lure you here. Have you met Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?' he looked towards the two men. 'This is Mary Morstan our local Fire Chief, she works with us sometimes on fire related crimes. But I guess you've figured that out already Sherlock.'

'John?' whispered Mary she began to blush as she stared intently at the blonde.

'Mary.' their eyes were locked firmly on each other.

Anderson watched them as if he was watching a car crash. He wondered if they would notice if he threw up into his waste paper basket. His eyes slipped away from the two and onto Sherlock. He was flabbergasted to see the normally stone cold man had an expression of pure anger, but it soon disappeared into a mask of indifference.

'How about you take Mary to lunch John?' said Sally, her expression as neutral as possible. 'I was going to ask her to go with me, but I'm now busy with Anderson on a case.'

'John's busy.' said Sherlock.

'No I'm not.' said John rather resentfully, 'I'd be happy to take you to lunch Mary.' he failed to notice the look of disappointment in her eyes.

'That's settled then,' Sally grabbed both John and Mary and escorted them to the exit. 'You love birds better get going.' She shot Sherlock a winning look, before disappearing out the door with them.

Anderson glanced over at Sherlock, who was now looking murderous. He hoped Sally would stay out the office for a while; else he'd have a new murder investigation on his hands. Sherlock was eerily still, the only movement was him snapping the pencil that was in his hands. He chewed his lip, at a loss at what to say.

'It won't last.' he said quietly, trying to comfort Sherlock 'she's too boring for John.'

Without another word Sherlock turned and stormed back into Lestrade's office slamming the door.

'What the hell was that about?' asked Lestrade.

Anderson rubbed his temples with his fist. 'That floor show was Sally's attempt at wrecking Sherlock and John's budding relationship.' He knew Sherlock always saw him as an idiot, but in the matters of love he was an expert.

Lestrade's face twisted in annoyance. 'For goodness sake! Sometimes I don't know why I let that woman continue to be in this department.' He stormed off in a similar manner to Sherlock and slammed his office door.

Anderson scowled at what had just taken place in front of him, thinking about the three hundred pounds he had bet on John and Sherlock. But it wasn't just about the money; he was ashamed to admit that deep down he found the idea of John and Sherlock together very hot. He hadn't spent years of reading Mills and Boon romance novels to not notice when two people were meant to be together. He didn't care that ruining her plan might mean that he would never see Sally in that dinosaur outfit again; Anderson was going to make sure Sherlock and John got together. This meant war.


	8. Mary

**This chapter ending up turning into a monster. It wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this long. Thank you so much to my reviewers of the last chapter (you know who you are) and well done to those who guessed the twist about Mary. This chapter felt like a massive journey to write, so please let me know what you think (whether lurker, usual reviewer or someone reading this because it's on your alerts). I'd just love for just this chapter to know what everyone thinks. Thank you for reading and please enjoy. Just a warning it contains a little bit of slash (but not from where most of you would expect). **

Many would argue that Mary Morstan was an enigma. On their first meeting with the woman, most people would never get past seeing her as anything but a beautiful woman. Those who did get to know her, however, would realise she was a truly flawed and complex individual. Why else would she spend her days ordering around men and putting out fires? When Mary had first told her parents that she had wanted to be a fire-fighter they had merely laughed. Why on earth would an upper-class girl who did ballet and modelling in her spare time want to risk her life on a daily basis? Nobody had taken her seriously.

Mary Morstan didn't like dresses, make-up, horses or men. She liked jeans, smoke, snakes and women. But nobody ever seemed to want to hear about who she truly was. So until the age of eighteen she'd allowed herself to be moulded and turned into something she truly was not. On her parents wishes she'd become engaged to a man who she did not love; it was surprisingly this act that set her free. It was at her hen party where Mary met Sally Donavan. The two had hit it off immediately and spent the night drinking together. Instead of marrying Robert Percy the next day, Mary had found herself waking up at around midday naked and in the arms of Sally Donavan.

It was after this incident that Mary decided to run away and become a fire-fighter. She had fled to Sally's flat and for a few years the two had lived happily alongside one another. Neither dared mention the fact that most their evenings were spent doing things that were far from platonic. At first Mary had thought of their relationship as just physical, but it had evolved into a desperate and needy love. Eventually she had forced herself to move out after a night of hearing Donavan and a male colleague of hers in the bedroom.

Mary worked hard at her job and was soon promoted. It seemed everything but her love life was going right. Sally still appeared at her door drunk most evenings, then without a word would kiss her passionately and push her into the bedroom whilst pulling off her clothes desperately. Mary was never brave enough to question why Sally did this in fear that it would stop. For a brief moment during those evenings while Sally was digging her nails into her back so hard that it drew blood, Mary felt alive.

It all stopped of course when Sally met Anderson. Sally stopped appearing in the evenings and their relationship evolved into nothing more than friendship. It was only during drunken night outs that Mary would wake up to find Sally next to her.

Mary knew how it felt to be used. This is why when she met John Watson; she vowed to save him from a similar fate. Perhaps they could save each other and find some peace together.

/

Mary was surprised at how much she had enjoyed lunch with John Watson. She was a bit apprehensive when Sally had forced the two into it, but it had all been lovely. John was the perfect gentleman and had made her laugh all through lunch. For the first time in years Mary could see herself dating a man.

It was after lunch when John slipped his arm around her and led her back to 221B Baker Street for a cup of tea. They had both found that the time they had spent together at lunch just wasn't enough and they wanted to get to know each other more. They were both smiling as he opened to his flat, which soon turned to looks of astonishment: Sherlock Holmes was lounging naked on the sofa, feeding himself grapes.

'What the hell are you doing?' asked John.

Mary tried to avert her eyes to anything but the naked form of Sherlock Holmes, it was lucky for John that she was a lesbian.

'I was bored.' Answered Sherlock.

'So you thought lounging on the sofa eating grapes would cure this?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John as if he was stupid. 'It's an experiment.'

Mary looked at both the men unsure of what to do. 'Maybe I should go.'

'No.' said John quickly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'I'm sorry, but if she stays she'll have to be naked too.'

'Sherlock' growled John, looking as if a vein in his forehead was about to pop.

Without another word Mary quickly slipped outside the front door unnoticed and practically ran the whole way home.

/

For their second date John took Mary to an expensive restaurant to make up for Sherlock's previous behaviour. It technically wasn't their second date, more like their tenth. But the others had all been interrupted halfway through by Sherlock Holmes ringing John and claiming that there was an emergency. Mary had discovered that the emergencies hadn't really existed, but instead were excuses used by Sherlock to lure John home so he could make him a cup of tea. They were hardly through their first course when John's phone began to ring again.

'I'm sorry,' he said 'I better get this, it's Mrs Hudson. She wouldn't ring unless it was important.'

Mary stared towards the other couples wishfully. Being in a place like this made her think of Sally. Sally loved expensive dinning and often asked Mary to join her. She would never forget the evening at this restaurant when the two of them had gotten drunk on champagne and ended up in bed together.

'Mary I've got to go.' Said John quickly. 'Mrs Hudson's had an accident and is refusing to go to the hospital. She thinks that she may have broken her hip.'

'Oh no,' said Mary. 'You better go.'

John stood up and kissed her lightly on the cheek. 'I'm sorry for running out on you again.' He put down a few twenty pound notes. 'You should stay and enjoy dinner. I promise I'll make it up to you.' He shot her one last smile before disappearing towards the exit.

Mary sighed and poured herself a very large glass of wine. John running off was becoming a bit of a habit, maybe he could sense that her heart wasn't in it. She was desperate to make things work, John was her last chance of having the perfect life that most women dream of.

'Hello dear.'

She looked up as an older woman sat across from her.

'You must be Mary, I'm Mrs Hudson.'

Mary raised an eyebrow. 'You're Mrs Hudson? Aren't you supposed to have a broken hip?'

Mrs Hudson let out a girlish laugh. 'Broken hip? Wherever did you get that idea?'

'John just got a phone call saying that you'd had a fall.'

'How bizarre, maybe somebody got the wrong number.' She smiled sympathetically at the look on Mary's face. 'The things men say to get out of dates.'

'John wasn't trying to get out of our date.'

'Of course not dear,' she petted Mary's hand gently. 'Don't worry, there's plenty more fish in the sea.'

Mary bit her lip hard. Was this woman insane? She briefly noticed her steak had arrived.

'Are you going to eat that dear?'

Before Mary could answer, Mrs Hudson had reached over and taken Mary's plate of food and was eating it quite happily. Mary started to wonder if John Watson was truly worth it.

/

On their third date Mary was sure everything would go right, how could it not? Sherlock Holmes was up on a case in Scotland and Mrs Hudson was at a friends. This meant that for once there wasn't anyone around to interfere. So far the night was going perfectly; John had made her a romantic meal and now they were on the sofa chatting and drinking wine.

She looked at his lips, as he laughed at some funny story he was telling about Sherlock. She could do this; she knew she could do this. She was going to prove once and for all that she wasn't gay. Ironically she had no idea John was having the same thoughts.

Mary leaned in and closed her eyes, she waited. She waited for a moment, but realised John didn't seem to be getting the hint.

'John,' she whispered, 'I want you to kiss me.'

He looked at her and his eyes widened. 'Ah.' He made no further movement towards her.

'Oh for goodness sake.' She grabbed his face and moved forward to press her lips to his.

'Ah!' John screamed. He sprang away from her, his eyes wide and staring.

Mary swallowed heavily and felt her heart swell with dread. She finally allowed herself to look up and noticed that Greg Lestrade was standing only metres away staring at them both.

'John!' Lestrade said quickly. He was breathing heavily, as if he'd ran the whole way. 'Thank goodness you're here.'

'What the hell are you doing here?' asked John, his cheeks were flushed with anger.

'It's Cyntheia,' Lestrade said quickly, 'She left me.'

'Is that al- I mean that's terrible,' said John trying to look as sympathetic as possible.

'I'm not interrupting anything, am I?' asked Lestrade, tears forming at the corners of both eyes. He clung to a box of beer, as if it was his lifeline.

'No, not at all,' said John kindly.

Mary resisted the urge to hit both men. Sherlock Holmes had to be behind this.

'That's okay then.' Lestrade crossed the room and positioned himself on the sofa between John and Mary. He slipped his arms around the two. 'I'm so lucky to have friends like you two.' He sniffed loudly and began to cry dramatically. 'I wish my wife was like you Mary.' He cried hysterically.

'Maybe I should go.' Said Mary quickly, feeling extremely uncomfortable.

'You don't have to-'

Lestrade began to cry louder. 'Why doesn't she love me?'

Mary stood up, forcing herself to smile. 'It's fine John. I'll see you later.' She let herself out quietly.

John sighed and resisted the urge to hit the wall. Why couldn't he get his time with Mary right? He paused in his thoughts and suddenly realised Lestrade wasn't crying any more. He looked over at the man, who was now happily sat drinking a can of beer with his feet up.

'Are you okay?' he asked wearily.

Lestrade smiled brightly at him. 'Of course I am. I've just realised she's not worth it after all. Would you like a beer?'

That Greg Lestrade was nearly thrown down the stairs of 221 Baker Street came as no surprise to Mrs. Hudson, nor the shower of full beer cans that followed him.

/

It was no secret that Irene Adler liked to play with fire. In fact she was playing with fire right at this moment. She could not understand why John Watson seemed so interested in that boring blonde woman. Right now the two were on a date and snuggled up together in the back row of the cinema.

Silly John Watson had failed to notice that he had been served popcorn by none other than his rival for Sherlock's heart. Perhaps it was because she was wearing clothes; the clothes were hideous after all. Irene would never usually be caught wearing lime green, but the situation had forced it. She smirked thinking about the female employee who she'd lured into the toilets, tied up and stolen the clothes from.

'Excuse me Miss, could I have a hotdog?'

She turned around and fixed the man asking with her most sultry pout. 'Are you trying to seduce me?' she whispered.

The man's face turned several shades of red. 'I-I-I erm.'

'Run along little man. Before I'm forced to show you what it's like to have a real woman.'

Irene smirked as the man practically ran away, she still had it. She looked around before sneaking into the cinema's empty staff room. In seconds her plan was complete; the room was on fire. Who knew that throwing a match into a waste paper bin could cause such high flames in such a small amount of time? Irene smirked as she slipped out of the exit. This would not only ruin John's date but keep that silly woman busy for days to come. Irene Adler knew she was bad and she loved it.

/

Mary knew that tonight was the night she was going to sleep with John Watson and nothing would stop her. Everything was arranged; she had a chicken casserole bubbling in the oven, plenty of wine and her best underwear was hanging up in the bathroom. How could any man resist? She couldn't help smiling; she was finally going to prove to herself that she wasn't a lesbian. She hummed a Disney song as she thought about how beautiful the children would be.

As she stepped out of the supermarket carrying a chocolate tart, she never expected to bump straight into John Watson.

'John?' she asked in surprise. 'What are you doing here?'

He shot her a crooked smile. 'I was on the way to your flat and couldn't get to it because of the army cordon.'

'What do you mean?' she asked in confusion. 'I only left the flat ten minutes ago.'

'I'll show you.' He took her hand and began walking with her in the direction of her flat. They were nearly to her road, before they were stopped by a member of the army.

'Sorry Sir, I can't let you go any further.'

'On whose orders?' asked John in annoyance.

'Mine.' Mycroft Holmes appeared from behind the soldier holding a large cream donut. 'Do run along Smith and let the adults talk.'

John could feel his temper bubbling to the surface. 'What the hell are you trying to pull Mycroft?'

'Pull?' asked the older Holmes brother, as he took a huge bite of his donut. 'I don't know what you're talking about. We've found a World War Two unexploded bomb.'

'Let me guess, it happens to be right underneath Mary's flat?'

'How ever did you guess?' Mycroft grinned sardonically, not noticing the large amount of cream that was now dripping onto his shirt. 'It's a shame really; did the two of you have plans?'

'You know we did.' Growled John. 'I guess we'll have to go to my place instead.'

Mycroft's smile (if possible) got even more jovial. 'I'm afraid not, those who live in this area need to be evacuated to one of our centres. Just to make sure they're all accounted for if anything goes wrong. I hope you both understand.' He began to lick his fingers and even his shirt to get rid of any excess cream. 'Smith! Will you take this woman to one of our evacuee centres?'

Before John could argue, the officer was back and escorting Mary into a nearby jeep.

'You planned this, didn't you?'

Mycroft merely rolled his eyes. 'You're so paranoid John; I guess it's what comes of living with my brother. Do hurry back home, I don't really wish to explain to Sherlock why his flatmate is in pieces if this bomb goes off.'

'Sir! Sir!' shouted a young soldier as he ran up to Mycroft. 'Something terrible has happened. Elliot and Masters have eaten your last two donuts.'

Mycroft's expression darkened. 'I'll have them hanged for this.'

/

Sally was beginning to get annoyed; it seemed every time she tried to push John and Mary together someone was waiting in the wings to push them apart. Tonight, however, it was different. Sally had arranged a lovely double date at her flat; which consisted of herself and Anderson and John and Mary. So far the evening was going wonderfully.

Anderson sighed and wondered if Sally was completely blind. How could she not realise that her best friend was a lesbian? Mary had spent the whole night staring at Sally longingly. Anderson forced himself not to laugh at how much John and Mary truly had in common.

'Mary,' said Sally sweetly. 'Are you okay to help me in my room for a second?'

'Of course.' Mary stood up as if Christmas had come early and followed Sally into her room.

'Do you reckon they're at it?'

John spat out his wine. 'Excuse me?'

'Don't tell me you haven't noticed that your girlfriend is gay?' Anderson rolled his eyes.

'Well considering the fact she's my girlfriend, I'd say that proves the fact that she's straight.' Said John.

'You're so oblivious.'

He slammed his glass down in response. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

Anderson sighed and glanced over at the door to Sally's bedroom. 'John, everyone but you has realised Sherlock Holmes is in love with you. I'm pretty sure you feel the same way too. So why don't the two of you stop this silly game? It's not good having all this red hot sexual tension about, it makes the rest of us feel a bit lacking.'

John opened and closed his mouth.

'I know he's an arse.' Continued Anderson, 'and I'm not his biggest fan. But it's obvious the two of you are made for each other. Don't make the mistake I did and end up settling for someone you don't love.'

John again went to open his mouth, but was distracted by Mary and Sally re-entering the room. 'I've got to go.' He said quickly. 'Thank you for dinner Sally.' He grabbed his coat and sped out of her door, not even pausing to close it on his way out.

'What on earth did you say?' growled Sally, fixing Anderson with a pure look of loathing.

Anderson fixed her with his most sincere expression. 'I only asked him to examine the wart I have on my bottom.'

/

When John arrived back at 221B Baker Street he could hear the soft sound of sad violin music. He quickly climbed the stairs two at a time and let himself into the flat. Sherlock immediately stopped playing.

'You're back early.' Sherlock stated.

'What's that supposed to mean?' asked John.

Sherlock fixed him with a blank stare. 'I thought you'd be busy with that woman and your new friends.'

'Why have you been trying to make me jealous?' the question slipped from John's lips before he could stop it.

'I thought the reason would be obvious.' Said Sherlock as he began to pluck a string on his violin.

'Well sometimes the obvious isn't that obvious to me.' He sat down on the sofa and fixed Sherlock with a steady stare. 'Is it all a game to you? Or do you have actual romantic feelings for me? I need to know, we can't carry on like this.'

Sherlock continued to keep his entire focus on his violin.

'I need to know Sherlock.' Said John 'I need to know why you're doing this.'

'John I-'

Sherlock was interrupted by a loud banging on the door.

'Oh for goodness sake,' growled John 'Piss off!'

'John, are you in there?' came a muffled voice from behind the door.

Sherlock put down his violin and in a few steps had reached the door. Mary fell forwards as he opened it.

'I was so worried John. Why did you run out like that? Was it something Anderson said? Are you ill?' she spoke quickly and sounded deeply worried.

John, however, was oblivious to Mary's concern. He was too busy staring at Sherlock, who still hadn't given him an answer.

'John is fine.' Said Sherlock softly, 'Anyone who spent the night with Donavan and Anderson for company are bound to run away when the opportunity presents itself.' He strolled across the room and paused as he reached his bedroom door. 'It was just a game John,' he whispered quietly 'nothing more. Goodnight.'

Mary frowned at the man who had now disappeared into his bedroom. She went and sat next to John who seemed to be frozen in place. 'Are you okay?' she asked.

'Yes of course I am.' Said John dully, he couldn't hide the single tear that slipped from the side of his left eye.

'Then why are you crying?' she asked.

'I'm not, there's just something in my eye.' He whispered.

Mary didn't say another word. Instead she leaned forward and pulled the man into her arms. A part of her realised she'd done a terrible thing. When she'd first met John Watson he had drunkenly told her that he was in love with Sherlock Holmes. What Mary hadn't realised until a moment ago was that Sherlock Holmes loved John too. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the tears of shame that were beginning to form, some how she'd put this right. She had to.


	9. Harry

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and read the last chapter. After this one I think there are only three more chapters to go until the end. Harry wasn't really meant to have a heart to heart with John in this fic, but this chapter seemed to write itself. It has a little less humour than usual, but I promise to make up for it in the next few chapters. Thank you to: Theodora Helena Miller, MysticPuma, SuspiciousFlower, Zakuro46, BritFaceNess, BananaDaiquiriTimeLord, LaLuuuna, Strazza, read-everything and Zarra Rous for your wonderful reviews. **

Harry Watson was a little confused and with good reason. It seemed her brother John had finally lost it. An hour ago he had turned up at her door ranting about secret plots, the British army and donuts. She had wasted no time fishing out her secret bottle of vodka from the toilet and pouring him a huge glass. He was now sat staring at her wall as if it was the most fascinating thing that he had ever seen.

'So are you going to tell me why you're here?' she asked, the silence was starting to get to her.

'You wouldn't believe me even if I told you.' He took another swig of his glass of vodka and pulled a face.

'Try me John.'

'Fine, you asked for it. My girlfriend's a lesbian and all of my friends and the British army seem to be trying to split us up. On top of it all I've realised I'm in love with Sherlock Bloody Holmes, who by the way has some weird hobby that involves making me jealous for no bloody reason.'

'Ah.' Said Harry, unsure on how to proceed; she had never been that close to her older brother. It seemed the death of their father and her mother's battle with alcoholism had only pushed them further apart.

'You don't believe me, do you?'

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. 'When it comes to you John I know that anything's possible. Bar the bit about the British army, shouldn't they be busy fighting a war or something?'

John rolled his eyes. 'Not when Mycroft Holmes needs their services. It seems the British army are easily bribed when it comes with the promise of cream donuts.'

'So your lesbian girlfriend, do you love her?'

John's face screwed up at the question. 'I think I do.'

Harry sighed in frustration. 'Maybe I should rephrase the question. Are you in love with her? Or do you only think you love her because you believe you should?'

John's frown deepened further. 'I don't understand what you mean.'

Harry gazed longingly at his glass of vodka. For years she had avoided this conversation with John, but it seemed it was finally the right time. God she wished just for a drop of vodka to help her through this. 'When Dad died I never saw you cry not once. But I know you did, I know you waited to do it when you thought Mum and me were asleep.'

John shifted awkwardly, but didn't say a word.

'You didn't once get angry or say anything out of turn. When mum got drunk you put her to bed and made sure she drank lots of fluids. You shouldn't have had to go through that at fifteen. While all your mates were out getting drunk or chatting up girls, you cooked dinner and washed all my clothes so nobody at school would notice we weren't coping.'

John shot her a fiery look. 'It was the right thing to do.'

Harry put up her hand as a warning not to interrupt her again. 'You never once moaned or felt you lost your childhood. You sorted mum out and helped her get back on track; I don't think she has ever once thanked you for it.'

'She didn't need to.'

'Exactly John, you're like some guardian angel. You jump in, fix everything and then disappear. It's why I always knew you'd make a fantastic doctor.' Harry again shot a longing look towards her vodka bottle. 'You have always wanted to do the right thing and be who everyone wants you to be. The only time I've ever known you to rebel is when you met Sherlock.'

'I don't see what this has to do with whether I love Mary,' John said, a look of confusion etched on his face.

'John can't you see? You fell in love with Sherlock and then got scared. You were always mother's golden boy, the one who was going to get married and give her lots of grandkids. You've created yourself a persona that even you can't live up to.'

John frowned deeply. 'That's not true.'

Harry sighed and wondered what would happen if she clawed the glass of vodka from John's unsteady hand. 'Do you remember my sixteenth birthday party?'

'Not really, I didn't do any karaoke at it did I?' he asked, remembering his performance from the other day.

'No John. You kissed another man.' She rolled her eyes at his shocked expression. 'I knew you'd repressed it. You and mum had such a row; I remember her screaming and telling you that you were not allowed to be gay. After that night I remember how you started dating woman after woman. I almost cried sometimes at how hard you were trying. Don't you find it odd how you've never had a meaningful relationship until you met Sherlock?'

'I don't understand.'

She resisted the urge to knock some sense into her brother. 'But I do. You've always been the dutiful son, soldier, doctor, boyfriend and flatmate. No wonder you were always so calm going into battle, it allowed you to escape the battle that has always been going on in your own head. You were never allowed to be just John, but that all changed when you met Sherlock.'

John looked down at the floor. 'I've handled everything badly, haven't I?'

She smiled in response. 'No John, you've just handled it the way you always have. From what you've told me about Sherlock, it must have been scary for him when he started to have feelings for you. Sexuality wise, you must been very hard to read. Can you blame him for trying to test the water? It must have been a relief for him when you started to get jealous. It must have given him hope that he finally had a chance with you. Then of course you got scared and ran straight into your lesbian girlfriend's arms.'

'Her name is Mary.'

Harry rolled her eyes. 'I don't care what her name is. I care that true to form you ran away from the fact that you're gay. Freud would have a field day with you. Your relationship with Mary is just another way for you to be dutiful John.'

John shot her a glare. 'That's not fair.'

'Yes it is.' She shot him a warning stare; John wasn't the only one in the family with nerves of steel.

'Sherlock doesn't love me, so it doesn't matter anyway.' He said as he finished the last few drops of his vodka.

Harry began to laugh. 'It's blatantly obvious to everybody that he does. Well to everybody except you. Your friends wouldn't be working so hard to get the two of you together if they thought otherwise. You've spent so long doing the right thing for everyone John; did you not expect it to one day rub off on Sherlock? It sounds like Mary is everything you could have ever asked for and if I was Sherlock I wouldn't have wanted to ruin your happiness for anything.'

John glanced down at his watch. 'I really should be going.'

Harry nodded, knowing that this heart to heart was perhaps a little more than both of them could handle. She stood and kissed her brother gently on the cheek. 'I just want you to be happy. Please stop being dutiful John.'

'I'll try.' he whispered as he pulled her into a tight hug. 'I'll text you.'

She nodded as she watched him make his way to the door. 'John' she said suddenly.

He turned and looked at her expectantly.

'Is Mary hot?'

A bright smile spread across his face. 'She's beautiful.'

'Do you think that you could introduce us at some point?'

'Of course.' He shot his sister a knowing look before letting himself out.

Harry waited a few moments before taking the bottle of vodka to the kitchen and pouring it down the sink. She pulled out an earpiece and then the wire from underneath her jumper.

'Okay Mycroft.' She said into the device. 'I said what you asked me to word for word. Just remember to uphold your part of the deal.'

Harry smiled and finally switched the device off. She walked quickly over to her fridge and flung open the door to find it full of beautiful cream cakes. It seemed her poor brother hadn't realised that it wasn't just the British army who could be bribed with cakes. As she took a huge bite from a chocolate Éclair, Harry Watson made a mental note to thank Sherlock Holmes for all the trouble he was causing.


	10. Interlude: Sherlock

**Thank you to all my lovely reviewers of the last chapter. I will respond and thank you all properly in the next one. This is merely an interlude in response to a review I received. I've always been terrified of tackling anything from Sherlock's point of view for a long time, but I think it was needed to be done. Love to me lately has become an emotion that is complex, in some ways indefinable and attached to so many other words and emotions. Can it ever be defined when so many people experience and live it so differently? An old friend of mine said love is when two jigsaw pieces (that have been mangled and chewed apart by dogs) still manage to find one another and fit together. I hope in the next three chapters my John and Sherlock jigsaw pictures are going to find one another. I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter (and all the little quirky humour bits that come with in) and locking my angst bunny (that made a special appearance for just this Interlude) away in a cage. Enjoy. **

Sherlock Holmes was not in love with John Watson. How could he be in love with someone who was his heart? Prior to John's existence into his life Sherlock had lived a life of selfish mediocrity and to some extent he still did. Sherlock cared little for the people who flitted in and out of his life, they did not matter and they were not concrete. Sherlock liked his superior intellect, the eyeballs in the fridge and the fact that there were very few things in life that could hurt him.

Sherlock Holmes did not have any friends or any need for love. Yet it seemed both had found him. Over the years he had accidentally gained a group of loyal followers; Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Molly and John. Followers or friends? What was the difference? He did not know.

Love, the funny word that was said so often by many but meant so little to him. The only loving relationship he had left in his life (since the death of his parents) was his one with Mycroft. But using the word love to describe their warped relationship seemed to be just wrong. How could love be so complex?

When his parents had died when he was only aged ten Sherlock had not shed any tears. Crying would be what was expected of him, a display of love. Even at that age he knew that he would never truly have a grasp of this alien feeling, how could that word be used to explain why his whole world had been swallowed into darkness? He would never again allow himself to feel such sentiment.

Growing up without his parents and in a boarding school in which the occupants despised him had taught Sherlock about a number of emotions; hatred, envy and anger. Living with John Watson had taught him how to understand other more pure emotions, that he had been lacking for quite some time; pity, kindness and sentiment. With Mycroft their relationship was all just one big game. With John it was finding peace, a port in the ever present storm. With John Watson he could just be.

It had all changed when he realised that John was beginning to view him as more than just a friend. He would often find the other man's eyes on him and John's jealousy when the woman came along only served as a further confirmation. It seemed John Watson was in love with Sherlock Holmes. But did Sherlock Holmes love him back romantically? The honest answer was most likely no.

John's jealousy, however, fascinated Sherlock. It had become a drug and he soon found himself thinking up inventive ways just to catch a glimpse of it again. John's jealousy was an indication that somebody wanted him; somebody wanted him for who he was. This had reintroduced Sherlock to an old emotion that he usually ignored: lust. Sherlock wanted to claim John as his own, but wanted none of the emotions that came with it.

Sherlock had naively thought that everything would be so easy; in his mind he had seen John finally giving into his desires and claiming Sherlock as his own. Their relationship would not have to change just because sex was suddenly a factor. Did sex always have to equal love? No. When he told Mycroft this theory his older brother had merely laughed at him. Sherlock could not understand how Mycroft could see something he could not.

It had all changed of course when that woman had got involved. His John now was being claimed by another. Sherlock had thought that this fact wouldn't bother him; he was only lusting after John after all. But it had. The memory of Mycroft's laughter seemed to be in the forefront of his mind. Why did it bother him that John was with that woman? Why had he cried (when he hadn't since before his parents had died) at the idea of John married and forever with someone other than himself? He couldn't answer that question.

A nagging voice in the back of his head seemed to be working its way to the forefront of his mind. If it was just about chemicals and attraction then why didn't you take advantage of John when he was drunk? Why hadn't he kissed his flatmate? Why had he wanted everything to be so special? Why had he put John's happiness with Mary above his own? Sherlock could not answer any of these questions.

Sherlock knew that his confused feelings and inability to love were not enough for John. John deserved someone who was whole, someone who could feel just as much as he could. Mary could give him all of that. That's why he'd never read Mary, he wanted her to be a blank canvas in which John could discover the real picture for himself. He wanted John to be happy.

Sherlock Holmes did not do romance or love. Mycroft and most of his friends claimed that he was in love with John, but it wasn't true. How could he love John, when John was his heart? All Sherlock knew was that he desired John; he desired his company, his laugh, his smile and his witty remarks. Sherlock desired everything that made John, John. But that couldn't be love, could it? Wasn't love supposed to be precious, beautiful and pure? Not selfish, jealous, confused and conflicting? How could so much thought go into one little four lettered word? How could one thing have so many other words and emotions connected to it?

He didn't allow himself to think any more as he tiptoed up the stairs and into John's room. His mind was blank as slipped into the bed next to John, careful not to wake him as he slipped his arms around him. He would allow himself this little fantasy that he was enough and that John was his. Sherlock Holmes didn't understand love or even know if he was capable of it, but just for next hour he would allow himself to pretend.


	11. Mrs Turner

**Thank you to my reviewers of the last two chapters: BritFaceNess, SuspiciousFlower, meredithriddle, Strazza, read-everything, samiam13, MysticPuma, Zakuro46, friedninja, Phoenix, LeighQuinn, Azlira and sami1010220. Sorry for the long wait, I had to re-write most of this chapter after a virus decided to delete all the computer's files. Hope you all enjoy. **

Mary glanced around the living room of 221B happily, it was John's Birthday and she had organised a nice little party. The flat was now transformed with balloons and glittery decorations. The table of 221B had many delicious cakes and treats upon it, everything seemed to be perfect. She sighed; it all would be perfect if John and Sherlock weren't politely ignoring each other. Mary tried to resist the urge to hit her head against the wall in frustration; the two were as bad as each other. Both Sherlock and John were sat close together on the sofa that John was nearly sitting on Sherlock's knee, but the two continued to ignore each others' existence.

'Well this isn't awkward.' Mary muttered to herself.

'Sorry?' said John.

Mary refused to reply, but she was sure that Sherlock was smirking at her. She wandered over party food table and picked up a delicious cream cake.

'Put that down!'

Mary paused as she raised the cake to her mouth; she had never heard John use his voice of authority before.

'Why?' she asked rolling her eyes. 'Is it poisoned?'

'You take one bite of that cake and you will forever be in Mycroft Holmes debt. To you it's a cream cake, to him it's a contract signed in blood.'

Mary sighed and put the donut back onto the plate. 'Fine I'll just have one of the cupcakes in the kitchen.'

'I wouldn't do that.' said Sherlock.

'Why not now?'

'Their main ingredient is eyeballs. I've made them especially for Mycroft, as a warning to stop sticking his abnormally large nose into other people's business.' said Sherlock, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Without another word he left the room and escaped into his bedroom.

'Is he always like that?' asked Mary.

John's lips quirked into a smile. 'This is a good day.'

'And yet he's the one you love, not me.' said Mary softly.

John suddenly seemed frozen in shock. 'Yes' he answered honestly 'I think you're right. He's a selfish pain and he goes about everything in the most idiotic way sometimes, but yes I think I love him.'

Mary forced herself to smile 'Do you think he loves you?'

'I don't know if he's even capable of loving anyone.' he glanced over towards Sherlock's bedroom door thoughtfully. 'Everything is such a mess lately and I just want things to go back to the way they were. I want it to be the two of us running around London and nearly getting ourselves killed, it's so much simpler that way. I love him, but he doesn't have to love me back. I just want to be by his side, anything else would just be a bonus.' he glanced up at Mary and shot her a sad smile. 'I'm sorry if I've lead you on.'

'I think we've lead each other on.'

The two smiled at each other in a knowing way. John pulled Mary into a warm hug.

As John held her tight he suddenly began to laugh. 'So when were you going to tell me that you're in love with Sally?'

She shot John a crooked smile. 'There never seemed to be a right time. We were always too busy with your friends.'

'They do seem to enjoy inferring when it comes down to my love life.' Sighed John.

Mary's eyes lit up. 'I've got an idea that'll teach them never to interfere again.'

/

An hour later John and Mary sat of the sofa laughing together. It seemed that comparing their dire love lives had made the two even closer.

Mary glanced up at the wall towards the clock and frowned. 'Do you want to go get Sherlock? The guests should be arriving soon.'

John grinned at her. 'Are you too scared to go and get him yourself?'

'Something like that.' She muttered, looking embarrassed.

John rolled his eyes before strolling over to Sherlock's bedroom door. He knocked softly and got no answer. John sighed and slowly pushed it open; he slipped into the room quickly and closed the door behind him.

John immediately noticed that Sherlock was fast asleep with his arm thrown over his head in an almost dramatic way. John let out the breath he was holding as he stared at his best friend mesmerised. He tiptoed forward and reached out his hand tentatively to touch Sherlock's cheek. He let out a gasp, feeling Sherlock's soft and cold skin underneath his fingertips. His hand seemed to have a mind of its own as his fingers moved across Sherlock's cheek and began to trace the line of his lips.

Before he could stop himself John leaned forward and replaced his fingers with his lips. It was supposed to be the briefest of kisses, but as John began to pull away Sherlock's hands were in his hair and holding him there. At first the kiss was sloppy and messy but John found himself not wanting to pull away. The kiss began to get deeper and more intense, but a loud banging on the front door of 221B made John jump away.

'I'm sorry.' said John quickly, not daring to look at Sherlock. He practically ran out of the bedroom.

Mary raised an eyebrow as John flew into the room. 'Are you okay?'

He ignored her and quickly opened the front door. Mrs Hudson wandered in, surprisingly with a friend attached to her arm. Her friend was an elderly lady with tight grey curls. She surveyed them all whist gripping onto Mrs Hudson's arm tightly.

Mrs Hudson smiled warmly at everyone. 'I hope you don't mind that I brought a friend; Mrs Turner gets ever so lonely since her husband passed away.'

John strolled over to them both, smiling warmly and hoping they wouldn't notice his flushed cheeks. 'Of course not, the more the merrier. I'm John and that's Mary over there'

Mrs Turner surveyed John appraisingly as he kissed her cheek. 'Ohw you weren't lying Martha.' she said smirking at Mrs Hudson. 'He's gorgeous! If only I was a few years younger and he wasn't into men.'

'Excuse me?' said John.

With a pointed looked from Mrs Hudson, Mrs Turner repeated herself. 'I said if only you were a few years younger dear and not into Mary. Martha's told me how Mary took her out for a lovely meal the other week.'

Mary forced herself not to grimace at the memory of that ruined romantic evening. 'Why don't you sit down Mrs Turner?' she took the older woman's arm and escorted her safely to over to the sofa. Sherlock seemed to appear from nowhere as Mrs Turner sat down.

'Ah.' said Mrs Turner as she noticed Sherlock. 'You're still as hansom as ever Mr Holmes. Have you given any thoughts to my grandson? I'm sure he'd gladly give up his wife if he had you to come home to every evening.'

John stopped himself from catching Sherlock's eye.

'I'm afraid that I'm still married to my work Mrs Turner.' said Sherlock softly.

Her eyes glinted in response as she looked at John and then Sherlock. 'Perhaps one day you might get a divorce, you never know dear. Is that cheese and pineapple on sticks over there?' she asked suddenly.

A loud knocking on the door announced the arrival of Mycroft, who walked straight into the flat and placed a small gift into John's hands. 'There would have been cake.' he said in way of a greeting. 'But I got a bit hungry on the way over. Managing the country is hungry work.'

'Shame you're not as good at managing your waistline.' muttered Sherlock under his breath.

'I heard that.' said Mycroft.

'You were meant to.'

John ignored the two as he unwrapped his gift. 'What a lovely present!' he exclaimed. 'But I can't accept it; it must have cost a fortune.'

'Especially with the inbuilt tracking devise.' added Sherlock.

'Inbuilt tracking devise?' asked John.

'Don't expect Mycroft to have brought that out of the goodness of his own heart. It's merely just another way for him to spy on the two of us.'

'I don't spy.' Stated Mycroft indignantly 'I observe.'

'Without people's permission.' Muttered Sherlock.

'Lestrade!' said John in relief, noticing his friend waiting patiently by the open door. He quickly stood up and greeted him, thanking his lucky stars that he had an excuse to get away from Mycroft and Sherlock's bickering.

'I brought some beer, you can have it if you promise not to throw it at me.' said Lestrade brightly, he still had a bruise on his head from the last time he'd seen John.

'Of course not, come in and sit down. You know everyone here bar Mrs Hudson's friend Mrs Turner.'

Lestrade smiled at them all. 'Here's your gift John, it's not much but I thought you'd like it.'

'John doesn't need any more aftershave, especially cheap aftershave' said Sherlock in a bored tone.

'Well,' said John in a falsely cheery way. 'That spoils that surprise.' he added as he placed Lestrade's present next to a number of other gifts that Sherlock had identified throughout the day. It wasn't like John liked surprises any way.

Another knock announced the arrival of Anderson and Sally; they both looked completely out of place standing willingly in the doorway of 221B.

'Come in.' said John.

Anderson stepped into the room, but suddenly paused at the sight of Mrs Turner. 'Granny?' he said in shock.

'Fitzgerald?' she asked.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. 'So this is the grandson that you've told me so many stories about?'

Mycroft interrupted them all by wandering in from the kitchen 'Has anyone tried these cupcakes? They're delicious!'

Mary ignored Mycroft and cleared her throat loudly 'Now that everyone's here, John and I have an announcement.' she waited for them all to be quiet.

'You're not pregnant are you?' asked Sally excitedly.

'No of course not, we've decided to move to France together!' Mary smiled at them all.

Mycroft made a weird choking noise. 'France? France? I have no influence or power in France. The French government hate me.' In his head he already knew no amount of cakes/cake shops were going to change the way the French felt about him.

'Well ever since that bomb scare I've been wanting to move.' said Mary sincerely.

Mrs Hudson shot Mycroft a murderous look.

'Well I think this is fantastic news,' said Sally.

Anderson stared at her in shock. 'Are you mad? This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!'

'But it's all down to you Anderson.' said Mary smiling. 'John told me how you two had a conversation about seizing the day. That's what made us decide to do it.'

Mrs Hudson shifted her murderous stare towards Anderson.

'That's not what I meant!' he exclaimed.

Lestrade looked green. 'I've only just managed to get my team working with Sherlock again and they only did it because they say John makes him bearable. How could you do this Anderson?'

'Me?' he squeaked. 'Why is everything suddenly my fault?'

'Because it just is! Say goodbye to your weekends because we'll be spending them here doing drug raids. How are you going to explain it when he starts turning up naked to cases again?' Lestrade looked as if the world has ended. 'This is one great big nightmare; it's probably a good job now that Cynthia left me.'

'Cynthia's always leaving you! Not a day goes by without that woman being dramatic about something. Her moods are more up and down than a yoyo.' Growled Anderson.

Mrs Hudson suddenly let out a hysterical cry. 'John can't leave, what if I break my hip? Who will be my doctor? What about my flat? It has only just started to look normal again. Think of my carpets, think of my furniture, and think of my poor walls that will end up filled with bullets!'

'It won't come to that.' said Mycroft quietly. 'It's the woman's fault that John's leaving, so why don't we just take her out of the picture?'

Mrs Hudson's eyes glinted menacingly. 'Can we get away with making her disappear?'

'I'm Mycroft Holmes, I can do anything. It's amazing what you can do when you have a box of cream cakes at your disposal.'

'I'll just pretend,' growled Sally menacing. 'That I haven't just heard you two plotting to kill my best friend.'

'I think you'll find that I can do what I like.' said Mycroft indignantly. 'I make the law.'

Mrs Turner kept turning her head to each person like she was watching tennis. 'This is better than Eastenders!' she exclaimed.

'Enough!' shouted Mary.

Everyone stopped what they were doing; Lestrade released Anderson from the headlock in which he was trapped, Mrs Hudson put down the umbrella she was about to hit Sally with and Mycroft quickly shoved the donut he was eating into his mouth whole. It seemed only Mrs Turner looked disappointed at this new turn of events

'John isn't going anywhere.' stated Mary.

Mrs Hudson dropped into a chair, clutching her heart in relief. 'Why on earth did you say he was then? I was five minutes away from faking a life threatening illness.'

Mycroft beamed at her creativity. 'I hadn't thought of that. I could have provided you with doctors and falsified the tests.'

'If you'd all let me speak.' shouted Mary again. 'I lied to teach you all a lesson that you shouldn't interfere with me, John or Sherlock. John and I are no longer together, but that isn't down to any of your attempts of sabotage.'

'No it's down to the fact that you're a lesbian.' muttered Anderson under his breath.

'How dare you!' growled Sally, 'don't say things like that about Mary.'

'He can say what he likes.' stated Mary. 'I'm a lesbian and I'm not ashamed.'

'Don't worry dear.' said Mrs Turner. 'I think they have a cream for that.'

Mrs Hudson elbowed her. 'You obviously didn't hear her right. She said she was a lesbian.'

'Oh!' replied Mrs Turner. 'I didn't realise, I thought she was dating your gorgeous gay lodger. How delightful.' And she did look genuinely delighted to be sitting in 221B Baker Street. 'Nothing like this ever happens at Bridge Club.'

'I'm going.' Said Sally; a look of disgust plain to see on her face. 'I've had enough of this freak show. Are you coming Anderson?' she refused to even look at Mary.

'No, I think I'll stay here.' he said softly, taking a step closer to Mary.

'Fine, do what you want.' she said angrily, before leaving the room and slamming her door on the way out.

'Is there any popcorn? This is getting exciting' whispered Mrs Turner to Mrs Hudson.

Mycroft smirked at the older woman and handed her a huge bowl full.

Anderson looked crestfallen towards the door in which Sally had exited.

'For goodness sake man put your chin up.' said Mycroft. 'Now that she's gone there's more food for us. I'm not sitting here sulking that I spent thousands of pounds of taxpayers money in attempt to split John and this woman up..'

Mrs Hudson smiled warmly at Mary. 'I'm sorry I threatened to have you murdered Mary, I go a bit mad when it comes to my two boys. Please, come sit over here love. I've got a niece who's a lesbian you know; I bet you two would be lovely together.'

'And if she's not you type.' said Lestrade kindly. 'I have a feeling my soon to be ex-wife might be.'

Mary looked at them all tearfully. 'You're all so kind. But wasn't this all supposed to be about you lot not interfering in other people's relationships?'

'Talking of relationships. Where are John and Sherlock?' asked Lestrade, noticing the two were no longer in the room.

'Well neither has left the building, my security staff would have alerted me.' stated Mycroft. 'There's only one place they could possibly be: John's bedroom.'

'You don't think?' Mrs Hudson was too excited to finish the sentence.

'Well there's an easy way to find out,' said Mycroft. He strolled over to the television and switched it on. He entered a code using the remote and a clear shot of John's bedroom materialised onto the screen. He smiled happily at his handy work 'just give it a minute and the sound will come on.'

'Haven't you all not learned anything from today?' asked Mary.

'Shh!' said Mrs Hudson. 'We might miss something.'

Mycroft went and sat next to Mrs Turner on the sofa and grabbed himself a huge handful of popcorn. One by one everyone in the room began to crowd around the television.

'I've know a friend who has a lovely daughter.' said Mrs Hudson suddenly, looking eagerly at Anderson. 'But I guess you might not like her because she's a palaeontologist, absolutely obsessed with dinosaurs.'

Before Anderson had any chance to reply, the door to 221B Baker Street was flung open. A tanned and very happy looking Molly wandered through the door.

'Sorry I'm late.' said Molly happily. 'My flight was delayed and I let myself in because the door was open. I've had such an amazing two weeks, have I missed anything?'


	12. Sherlock and John

**Apologises for the long delay, for the last few months I have had no internet. This is technically the last chapter, but there will be a very short epilogue at some point. Thank you to everyone for being patient. And a special thanks to those of you who reviewed Chapter 11. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. **

John made his way into his room and let out a sigh, things downstairs were really getting out of hand. How and why was everyone so embroiled with himself and Sherlock? It seemed everyone had an opinion or an agenda. He sat down heavily on the bed, he suddenly jumped up quickly letting out a scream as the bed beneath him began to move and a figure began to emerge like a mummy from a horror film from underneath the coats.

He looked down, reaching for a gun that wasn't there. 'Sherlock?'

Sherlock let out a bored sigh. 'Even a child could have deduced that John.'

'What are you doing in my bedroom?'

'I was bored.' he replied simply.

'So you decided to hide under a pile of coats in my bedroom?'

'Yes.'

John sighed again and sat heavily on his bed. 'I'm still angry at you.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and made no attempt to reply as he lay back into the pile of coats.

'Do you even care that I'm angry at you?' John asked with exasperation.

'Not particularly.'

'Brilliant. Well if you want me, I'll be downstairs enjoying my birthday party with people who actually care about me.' John stared intensely at Sherlock, waiting for anything that would contradict his last statement. He looked down at Sherlock and his eyes widened in shock as he looked at his trousers. 'What's that?'

'After years of service in the military, you don't recognise a gun when you see one? You do disappoint me.'

John raised an eyebrow. 'Why do you have a gun?'

Sherlock sighed and pulled himself up into a sitting position. 'I thought that would be obvious. I have a gun because I plan to use it.'

John quickly surveyed his bedroom walls for signs of bullet holes. 'I would appreciate it if you did not go shooting holes in my room.'

'I'm not going to use the gun on your walls John; I'm going to use it on Mary.' Sherlock stated simply, at if it was the most normal thing in the world.

John began to splutter. 'You're going to murder my fiancée?'

Sherlock sighed in a bored manner. 'Not murder John, injure.'

'Well that makes all the difference in the world.' squeaked John, his voice getting higher by the minute.

'Before you disturbed me, I was debating which area of the body would take the longest time to recover.'

John again sat down on the bed, trying to convince himself that he was hearing things. Had everyone lost their mind? 'Sherlock, you do realise that you can't go around shooting people just because you feel like it?'

Sherlock gave John an indignant look. 'Why not? Mycroft does it all the time.'

'Not in front of police officers.'

'I'm sure Lestrade wouldn't mind.' said Sherlock.

'Wouldn't mind?' asked John angrily, 'Wouldn't mind? Sherlock I forbid you to hurt Mary.'

'Well I forbid you to go to France then.' he replied childishly.

John threw his arms up in frustration. 'That's what this is about? You don't want me to leave. Why didn't you just say?'

'Isn't it obvious John? I knew it would lead to this tedious conversation, in which you'd want to talk about feelings that I am not capable of. You need someone who is whole and can give you what you want.'

John growled in frustration. 'Sherlock I don't want that, I just want you.'

Sherlock shifted along the bed and sat next to John, looking into his eyes. 'I don't love you, I don't even know if I'm capable of love. I just know that I want you to be mine, all mine and nobody else's. I just want you to stay by my side; but what could I offer you in return? The most I could give you is me. Some how I don't think that is enough'

John took his hand in his and smiled softly. Sherlock did not pull his hand away, allowing John to lace their fingers together.

'Well it's a start isn't it?' said John quietly, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

'John.' said Sherlock, for once looking nervous. 'You do realise what you're about to agree to? Once you agree to be mine, I won't ever allow you to ever date another man or woman again. You'll be mine, nobody else's.'

John sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Sherlock I know what I'm getting myself into and I am aware that you don't like to share. What you seemed to forget is that I don't like to share either.'

Sherlock allowed a smirk to grace his lips at his response 'It seems we are reaching an understanding. May I kiss you again?'

John nodded and the two leaned in and allowed their lips to brush innocently for a few seconds.

'Don't you dare think this means that I forgive you for the last few weeks.' said John pulling away.

Sherlock silenced him with another kiss and much longer kiss.

John pulled away again and sighed, looking at the man who had changed his life so significantly. 'You don't have to love me Sherlock. I don't mind if we spend our whole lives running around London solving crimes and nothing else. But I have a feeling we'll learn how to love together.'

'John?'

'Yes?'

'Do shut up and kiss me.'

Downstairs the entire living room of 221B Baker Street were cheering loudly. Anderson sniffed loudly as Mary handed him yet another tissue.

'You know what this means?' said Mrs Hudson happily. 'I'll need to go out tomorrow and find myself a wedding hat.'

Mycroft offered her a rare genuine smile. 'I was thinking of a September wedding, I know a lovely little bakery that could cater for the event.'

Mary rolled her eyes at the two of them. 'I thought you two were done meddling.'

Both Mrs Hudson and Mycroft looked at her with their eyes glinting.

'Done meddling?' laughed Mycroft. 'You silly girl. Don't you realise, the meddling has only just begun.'

Lestrade got up from the sofa and quickly turned off the television. He received a number of groans in response.

'Why did you do that for?' asked Anderson, seeming almost upset that the show was now over. 'It was just starting to get good in there.'

Lestrade smiled at them all gently. 'Sometimes things are better left to the imagination.'


End file.
